


Questionable Sleeping Habits

by Corvid_Knight



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Disordered Sleeping, Earth C (Homestuck), M/M, Mention of Past Abuse, also davekat feels, hallucination, my tumblr is knight-of-heart-and-art, strider bro feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 17:00:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12822006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Dave has issues with sleeping.





	Questionable Sleeping Habits

**Author's Note:**

> [art by panticwritten on tumblr!](https://panticwritten.tumblr.com/post/174135141212/thinking-about-questionable-sleeping-habits-by)

Anyway. Staying awake for this amount of time at one go is fucking stupid, and you know it. You really do know it. You're completely and totally aware that you should've given in and passed out maybe eight hours ago. You're also completely and totally aware of a fuckload of other shit, some of which most definitely isn't real. 

Yeah. You've been lowkey hallucinating for a good few hours—how many hours you don't actually know; your time sense goes out the window when you pull this shit. Apparently the Knight-y Time-y powers don't prevent that from happening, which is probably a blessing because this way if you want to watch a clock you're gonna have to find one, and you know for a fact you'll get distracted with trying to confirm the unreality of the ghosts you're seeing before you do that. 

Damn, but the ghosts suck. They're not even ghosts, you've hung out with ghosts on the not-too-rare occasions when your dreams take a left turn into the dream bubbles, and these are just shadows out of your head. (Or you could call them what the fuck they are, hallucinations. But that's too close to admitting how dangerously far you are into sleep deprivation.) 

(But then again you just thought that, so you know you're admitting it by calling it anything else.) 

There's Bro, shadowing you, a step behind and a step to your left, katana hanging loose in one hand and blood dripping down from the messy hole in his gut, leaving tiny smoking stains where each drop hits the floor. There's John, pacing back and forth in front of you, his face twisted as he snarls imprecations you can't quite hear at you. (Sometimes you wish your brain would just give in and cough up an aural component to the hallucinations. You don't think it could be worse than trying to lipread and find out what the fuck you did to make John hate you. Except of course it's not John. The only one here to hate you, is you.) There's a kid that you don't want to admit is your warped and imperfect version of yourself at six years old, grabbing at ghost-Bro's legs and crying soundlessly as his hands pass through. 

They're not ghosts, you tell yourself. Not fucking ghosts. 

Jesus fuck you need to stop walking through the halls. You need to pick a nice quiet corner in a room nobody uses—there's a lot of those here, there was absolutely no need to build this palace as stupid-big and fancy as it is but Roxy wanted to and there wasn't a reason not to either—find a spot nobody's going to pull you out of for twelve or fifteen hours, and just fucking crash. 

Otherwise? You'll end up passed out somewhere embarrassing, get the chewing-out you know you so richly deserve. You should just take a shortcut to that step. Find Karkat, find John, find fucking Jade if she's around and let whichever one you come across get a good look at how out of your fucking head you are right now. Only problem is, you don't trust yourself to not simply dissolve at any contact, and even though you're mostly good with expressing emotions like a normal(ish) human being (usually), right now you have Bro's blank but disapproving gaze on you, and you can't fucking think of curling up next to someone and talking to/at them until you can manage to fall asleep. That's an act of weakness, or he'd have seen it as one. Or it's an admittance of weakness, and he'd count that as worse. 

The kid—lil' Dave, the stupidest fucking ghost here—sobs, violently enough that you think you might hear a faint whisper of it, and abandons Bro, dodging ghost-John's kick and flinging himself at you. You have to close your eyes before he gets close enough to (not) touch you. You can't fucking stand the look of pain on his face when you turn out not to be a safe haven either. 

With sight removed, sound decides to make a surprise appearance in the Amazing Dave Shitshow. It's garbled and horrible and loud enough to make you flinch, angry voices and a sustained metallic whisper of a sword being drawn and pained panicked breathing all jumbled up into what hell must sound like if it could be bothered to exist at all. Still better than the visual equivalent, so you keep walking with your eyes closed. Not like there's anything to run into. 

Except after some length of time that's more than seconds and less than minutes, that's precisely what you do. You run into someone, or maybe they run into you but probably not, and because your eyes are shut and your hands are shoved into your pockets you eat dirt, pretty much. Your shades go somewhere that isn't in front of your face, the air whuffs out of your lungs as you hit the floor, and the voices in your head go mostly silent as your eyes open. 

Fuck fuck fuck—it's him. Bro. Him. Leaning over you, shades reflecting you on the ground in front of him, he's not a fucking hallucination because you just ran into—

"Dave, what the hell. You alright?" 

Wait. No. Stop. He's not cold or annoyed, he's. Confused, and not bothering to hide it.

"Dirk." You don't realize you're saying it aloud until he raises an eyebrow at the relief in your voice. "Uh..." 

Ghost-John is gone. Ghost-Bro is standing a fair distance away from Dirk, arms crossed over his wound, studying him. And lil' Dave...well, he's enough to distract you out of finishing your sentence; he's wrapped around Dirk's legs, burying his face in Dirk's worn-out jeans and peeking out at you. 

Well, shit. This probably says something about your subconscious, but you're not totally sure what. 

"Dave." When you look up at him again—a lot more guiltily than you should—he's holding out one hand. You have no idea why. "You okay, dude?" 

"Yeah, of course, sure, I—" can't take your fucking eyes off the kid holding onto Dirk like he's a lifeline— "I'm fine, why—why wouldn't I be okay—" 

"I don't know, maybe because you're on the ground? I mean, if I've managed to permanently damage you by running you over, I feel like I should be offering more apologies than I am." 

Oh. Yeah. That's what the hand's for. 

"Sorry." You reach up, and he pulls you to your feet without even wavering. Damn, either you're lighter than you thought or he's got some serious muscles somewhere in that skinny frame. It's probably good that he's strong, though, because your vision goes weird and wavery for a second, and the only reason you don't go right back down again is that Dirk grabs your shoulder. "...fuck. Sorry." 

"Don't be." He's frowning as he steadies you, but it's got a flavour of concern instead of annoyance. "You're not okay, though." 

Damn. 

"I'm fine, I—where are my shades?" You know precisely where they are. You can see them (and ghost-Bro trying to nudge at them with a foot that just overlaps like a badly exposed photo) out of the corner of your eye. But if you don't let on that you know where they are, if you don't look, maybe Dirk will have to. 

"Oh." He does glance down, but his hand doesn't leave your shoulder until he spots the shades and has to step over to snag them. Bro sidesteps right before they would've touched—away from you, thankfully, instead of towards. Even if he's not real you don't want him near you. "...I think they're okay." 

"What?" You mentally curse yourself as Dirk looks up from the shades in his hands to you, his face going more confused than ever. "I. I mean. Ah, fuck." The wall is right behind you; you step backwards to lean against it. "How about you just hand them over and I'll fuck off and leave you alone? That work?" 

"I'd rather work out what's going on with you and make a decent effort to fix it, actually." He's absently turning your shades over in his hands, watching you. 

Lil' Dave hasn't let go of Dirk's legs yet. Ghost-Bro's just now decided to show some interest in the kid, though, adjusting his grip on his sword in a way you're all too familiar with; it has one meaning, and that's your ass getting kicked. Even knowing he's a figment of your imagination you wince and almost reach for your own weapon. 

And Dirk catches that. Of course he does. You can't see his eyes go a fraction of a centimeter wider, but you can see the set of his mouth go from worried to wary. Okay, if you're scaring him it's time to clue him in on the state you're in. At least to some extent. 

"I'm, uh..." Admittedly, that's easier said than done. Or easier thought than said. Whatever. Closing your eyes makes it easier, because you can't see him and you might not even hear his response over the screaming in your head. "Having some issues. Seeing shit." 

"You're what?" His voice cuts through everything, though, and the phantom noise almost shuts up as Dirk's hands come down on your shoulders. He's gentle. You still flinch. "What, did you manage to alchemize LSD or some shit...?" 

"No!" That came out a hell of a lot louder than you meant to be, but Dirk doesn't seem surprised. Maybe you just think you're being loud. "No, I swear...just. Stupid. Haven't slept in awhile, that's all." 

You risk opening your eyes, and immediately regret it, because just like Dirk's got ahold of you, Bro has the kid. He's bleeding. Of course he is. Bro doesn't seem to give a fuck that you're watching, but lil' Dave sees you. He's fucking crying, mouth moving in what's got to be a plea for help, and you're not going to be able to give it. 

"...Dave? Dave." Dirk's tone is patient, and you have a feeling that time just slipped a little for you here. He's been saying your name awhile, hasn't he? And when you manage to focus on him you realize that he's taken his shades off, tucked them into the neckline of his shirt next to yours. "You're going to go to sleep now, alright? I can stick around if the shit you're seeing is that bad—" 

"It is." The only reason your voice doesn't crack is because you keep the volume so low. If you look away from Dirk's amber eyes, you're going to see Bro. If you see Bro you're going to have a full-scale meltdown, and Karkat's the only one who's seen that and knows how to handle it. Falling apart for Dirk is unthinkable. "I, it's, I can't—please." 

Nice. Coherent. But then again you want to cry for no fucking reason at all. Dirk just shakes his head a little, pulls your arm around his shoulders and wraps one arm around you, and pulls you down the hall. You don't even know which direction he's steering you—your eyes are, again, closed. 

Time slips and folds and realigns and at some point you're leaning against him as he gets a door open, and you're sobbing because Bro was there when you couldn't keep your eyes closed, and he's not pushing you off as you do what the figment of your imagination did before and cling to him. He's getting you to lie down on some fancy couch that you're going to get snot and tears all over, and he's gently reminding you which version of your brother he is, and you're not letting go of his shirt. 

God, this is going to be embarrassing later. 

Right now, though? Right now you cry and you babble at Dirk and he nods and makes noises that you really hope are sympathy and not disgust. What are you even telling him? Your mind's on autopilot and so is your mouth, but you hear shit about how you can't sleep and you don't want to sleep, how dreams about the game and before the game seem more real than anything else sometimes and you don't want to dream, you can't handle waking up next to Karkat and having him ask what makes you whimper and beg and wake up almost screaming. You hear yourself spill your guts and you hear Dirk telling you, calmly and quietly, that he knows, that if you dream he'll wake you up, that it won't get better if you don't sleep. 

Dirk talks you down from the wave of unreasoning fear you're riding, and when he pries your fingers off his shirt he wraps his hands around yours. He doesn't stop talking, either. As far as you know he doesn't shut up at all, and his voice is all that you carry down into your dreams. 

...for once, they aren't bad. For the first time in a good while the dreams are almost okay. You forget them even as you pass through them, and when you start to come back to consciousness they're just...gone. 

Dirk's gone too when you finally wake up, but someone's curled up on the sofa against you, someone reassuringly, comfortingly warm and making soft noises in his sleep. Or maybe not in his sleep, because when you sigh in relief to have him wrapped around you Karkat makes a deeper, intentional noise and moves his arm to lace his fingers through yours. 

"So he called you in." You could make it a question. Or be more specific. But nah, you're still too exhausted for that. "You pissed at me?" 

"Don't be a dumbass." You swear that he intentionally makes his voice get deeper when he's this close to you, just so you can feel it through contact as much as you can hear it, just because he knows the immediate effect of that on you is to trip every stress switch you have, turn every single one off. Nice. Better than nice. You don't have a word for how nice. "The kind of pissed I am is at the universe for fucking you up to where you do this shit and scare poor defenseless Dirk senseless over whether you're actually losing it." 

"Shit. I'm gonna need to apologize to him, huh?" 

Karkat's grip on you tightens even though you didn't move to get up. (And you won't, not in the immediate future. He's warm and you're still tired.) "Later." 

"Later," you agree firmly. And, because you legit can't remember half of what you probably said, "So how pissed is he?" 

You can feel Karkat's exasperated growl as much as you hear it. "I didn't say he was pissed at you!" 

"Doesn't answer the question, babe." 

"Shut up." When you start to point out that you're not that easily silenced he pulls you half-onto his chest, one hand coming up to start roughly-gently fingercombing your hair, proving that you are, in fact, that easily silenced. "He's not pissed at you...you talked, that's all. Got confused—" 

"Confused isn't the word for it." 

"—talked about your bro, talked to him like he was your bro—" 

"Fuck." Okay, that's actually the worst thing you could've done. 

"Shh." 

"He knows about Bro, he's gonna think I think he's horrible—" 

"I said shush." Karkat's sharp-ish claws dig into your scalp, not deep enough to hurt but definitely enough to make you shiver and distract you out of finishing your sentence. "He knows you don't think he's horrible." 

"Let me up so I can text him." That's half a joke. You don't even know if your phone's in your pocket. Karkat whines when you try to wiggle away, though, pulling you all the way on top of him and somehow managing to flip you over so you're lying on your stomach, on his chest. Holy fuck this is perfect. "Hey..." 

"Don't 'hey' me." It's funny how easy you can tell a mock-growl from a real one. He growls again when you start laughing—the vibration tickles, it feels awesome—and probably would've started complaining about your inability to be serious for one goddamn minute, except you pull yourself up enough to give him the messiest, worst possible kiss before he can.

He starts laughing after barely three seconds of that, kisses you back through the laughter, and still lets you go when you slide back down to curl up on top of him, hiccuping around the last couple giggles. God, you're stupid, but this time it's good-stupid. Love-stupid instead of just stupid-stupid. 

Karkat's still laughing, and purring through it, as he starts running his fingers through your hair again. "Idiot." 

"Very idiot. Constantly. That's my only possible state of being—" 

"Shush." God, you should not be so easy to shut up, all he's got to do is mess with your hair and pet you like a cat and you're done, it's that simple and he knows it. "You still need to sleep, don't you?" 

"Mm." That may just be the most neutral noise you've ever made. You hiccup again. "Do I?" 

"You do." Karkat's voice is firm as he drapes the arm that's not attached to the hand tangling in your hair over you. "You definitely do. And you're officially required to come lay down with me at least until I fall asleep every night now, just so you know. That way I can tell just how much sleep you're skipping." 

"Like you—" another hiccup; damn— "like you sleep more than I do." 

"Damn right I sleep more than you do. At least I try to sleep every night and don't just wander around like a cluckbeast with its head cut off—" 

"That's so not how you use that idiom." 

"Shush. Shut up. I'll use your idioms any way I fucking please." He huffs, then swallows a chuckle as you hiccup again; you can feel him shake a bit from holding it in, trying to keep up the mask of indignation. "Besides, if you cut something's head off they don't run around. Falls down and bleeds everywhere, maybe. I've seen—" 

"Chickens ain't exactly people." 

"They have one head, right? Pretty much the same." Karkat shakes his head when you start giggling again at that comment, patting your shoulder gently as the laughter dies down and the hiccups really don't. "Stop that." 

You hiccup as he says that, and try very hard not to start laughing again. "That's not how it works—" 

He makes a rude noise and then hums for a second, considering. "Okay, John told me about this—" 

"Please, spare—" hiccup— "spare me." 

"Nope. If you hiccup again I'll kiss you." He grins proudly at you. 

"How is that going to work? Now I have a reason to try to hiccup." 

"Exactly." That smug smile isn't going anywhere, so you just roll your eyes at him and wiggle into a more comfortable position to wait for another hiccup. 

And of course he's right, it doesn't happen. "Fuck." 

Karkat looks so fucking proud of himself it's ridiculous. "See? John was right for once—" 

"I don't care..." You drag the last word out into a complaining whine. "Rather have kisses and hiccups than none of either."

"Hey, I didn't say I wouldn't kiss you if you didn't hiccup." Karkat's very capable of moving you anywhere he wants to, and he uses that ability now (god damn but you love the fact that your boyfriend could probably throw you through a wall) and pulls you up to kiss you again, maybe a little bit less messy than when you were the one starting it but not for lack of trying by either of you. 

He's the one who finally pulls away, shaking his head as you immediately try to get back to his face and holding you off easily. "Dave, c'mon."

"Mm, no. Don't even try appealing to my better nature on this. I don't have one." He's not going to cave easy, though, so you relax and shift to wrap your hands around his wrists, not even trying to pull his hands off your chest. You like them there very much, thanks. "We both know I'm a stubborn lil' bitch who's never gonna stop 'til he gets what he wants—" 

"Oh my god, shh." He pulls you down, cradling you against his chest, and maybe that's not a kiss but it's good enough. Better than good enough. "Making out can go on hold until you fucking sleep." 

"Hmmm..." Yes, you could argue with him and maybe even win because he doesn't actually want to stop, but on the other hand...he's warm, he's purring, he's back to playing with your hair with one hand...yeah you're done. "I wake up, you're getting kissed whether or not you're up." 

His soft laugh is another layer of vibration under you. "Fair enough. Sleep, kisses, food—" 

"More kisses." 

"Okay, food then more kisses, then you can talk to Dirk if you still want to—" 

"Don't want to. Still need to." Apologize to him, really. You already want to start worrying about how the hell you're going to say that, but no. Not just now. 

"You do not need to, he understands—you know what, forget it." Karkat huffs, wraps his arms around you tighter, and settles down to just mumbling about how fucking stubborn you are and how you need to listen to what he says and then actually do it. Underneath that, he's purring. 

Between the two soothing sounds, you end up asleep faster than you plan to admit.

**Author's Note:**

> is this purely self-indulgent? yeah probably


End file.
